Shooting Star
by BrierGarden
Summary: This is a 2nd person retelling of Glee's 'Shooting Star' episode from Brittany's pov. *Fully Canon* When shots are fired at WMHS Brittany is left stranded in the halls, trapped with the shooter and her own thoughts. SCHOOL SHOOTING ! WARNING, but a promisingly good read. Non-graphic sensory description inside. One-shot


**Shooting Star**

Imagine for a moment that you're standing in the hallway talking to a friend. You smile and pretend like you know what she's talking about as she prattles on about her Algebra test she just took. Her eyes are a muted brown, sort of the color of dirt. They're nothing compared to Santana's deep chocolate eyes, you find so captivating. Her mousey dark hair is pulled back into a high pony that matches yours perfectly. You giggle and laugh along with her because everyone needs to be cheered up after a math test.

You take a moment to glance over her shoulder. The halls are still packed with students bustling to and from classes. Some are on their way out to their cars others are headed to practice. For an instant you think you see Kitty rushing out of her classroom to get to the choir room ,where you should be.

_"I have to get going"_ you say to your friend secretly hoping she doesn't want a hug goodbye. Your hands are still a little damp from when you washed them in the bathroom sink only a moment ago. The paper towels had long since run out and you knew that Mr. Kidney was too busy drinking scotch out by the garden shed to care. You can easily picture the way Santana's wicked smirk curled across her lips when you both discovered him there your sophomore year. You didn't necessarily like the way your best friend had blackmailed the creepy old man, nor did you understand the irony or a drunk named Kidney, but you were willing to let those things slide for a few extra hidden kisses.

Subconsciously your hands wipe along the edge of your skirt in an attempt to dry them better before your friend hugs you. She steps in closer with her arms stretched out to you. You should really go. The last thing you want is for Blaine and his hair grease to call dibs on the best songs. You step into the hug bracing yourself for when your two bodies will connect in a tangle of mixed limbs and smushed boobs. It isn't the same. It's never the same.

As you pull away from one another there is a defining crack that vibrates of the tiled floor and poorly plastered walls. It passes through McKinley as a ghost might; no one can ever be certain if they really heard what they thought they heard. Next a chilling scream that sets your nerves on edge. You look to the girl in front of you. Her eyes are a mirror of the puzzling fear in your own. Your kindergarten mind races to keep up, but before you can process there is another loud crack and the halls of your school and now there isn't a single shred of doubt as to what is going on.

There may not be a lot of things you know or understand, but you're not stupid even though plenty think you are. You've seen on the news these kinds of things before. Santana laid across the couch with a remote in hand. You were tucked carefully in her side; her arm draped around your shoulders. Your head was placed softly on her breast as if it were the softest pillow in the world. Together your legs were knotted and your arm fell lightly over her stomach as you watched your favorite reality shows lazily one afternoon.

Santana flipped through the channels with a careless abandoned; there was nothing else on. She passed by a breaking news alert that had caught your attention. _"Wait go back."_ You say to Santana and she complies wordlessly. Together you watch a report on a student who had been bullied so bad that he could no longer take it and sought his revenge. As the reporter recounts the details and latest facts you can't help, but whimper and squeeze at Santana's shirt. The small gesture draws the girl's attention out of her own thoughts and into yours.

"_I don't think you should watch this, B"_ She mumbles and kisses your forehead lightly. Her voice is distinct and troubled though your afraid to ask what her thoughts might be. Santana was always known for being something like a bully, but the idea that her words and actions could have such a harsh effect on those around her was frightening to think about. At that time you had chosen not to press her with the questions you had and instead you offered a distraction to ease her mind. Now, looking back on it, you wish you hand found those answers, because surely there would have been something that might explain what was happening to you now.

A flurry of students run by you, but you can't seem to move your feet or catch your breath. Your heart begins to pound as your eyes dart around. You're frozen to the spot. Your mouse haired friend has long since left you in search of cover. A small freshmen boy bumps into you jarring you from your spot.

_"Go! Move!"_ He shouts for his own safety and out of concern for you, but where was safe? Rachel always spoke of glee club as a place where everyone could be safe to be who they are, but did that mean it was safe there now? With students rushing left and right it was hard to tell which direction the shots had come from. All you can think about is your picture showing up on the nightly news as a victim of yet another horrible tragedy and someone telling their girlfriend to look away for their own good.

You don't remember starting to run, but suddenly you're very conscious of the way your steps are echoing across the hall. Their empty now. There is no one in sight. The doors are all closed and the blinds drawn. It's almost as though the school has forgotten you. With each stride of your long legs you can hear the loud clap as the soles of your cheerio sneakers call to the stranger in the halls. Your breathing grows more and more shallow as panic consumes you, but there is a light. You can see the doors to the choir room now. You run just a little harder knowing that safety is just with-in your reach.

Your hand closes around the cool metal of the door handle and you turn it, but it doesn't budge. You try again with a little more force. You jiggle it unable to understand why the door wont open. You pound on it a little thinking someone will know it's you. Someone must have noticed by now that you aren't in the room. You rush to the other door thinking that maybe that one will open, but it doesn't. You're too frightened to speak and there is nowhere to go. You're stuck in the open with no protection. No soft hands stroking your hair telling you that everything will be okay. No warm embrace to comfort you goodbye. For the first time you feel angry. For the first time Glee has let you down. _She_ has let you down.

You start to run again. This time faster. Back the way you came. You fear that the echo of your steps is drawing the unseen monster right toward you. You can hear in the back of your mind the unbridled growl of his stomach. He's hungry and he is coming for you.

You dart past the bathroom where you were, but then stop short. You've been asking yourself what would Santana do and it occurred to you that Santana would hide or cut a bitch, maybe both. You forgo the 'cut a bitch' part of your best friend's method and stick to the 'hide' portion. The bathroom may not be the best place, but it was away from the open hallways.

You tip toe back as quickly and quietly as you can pushing the swinging red door open as soundlessly as you can. Your imagination tells you that the monster in the hall has momentarily been distracted by another sound. You quickly rush into the closest open stall and you lock the door. It isn't much but it gives you a false sense of relief. You take a deep breath and realize that if the ugly monster in your head were to come inside this small bathroom, he'd merely have to look down to see where you were. Your clean white shoes that Coach insists upon shine bright and new against the dirty off white tiles of the girl's bathroom.

Carefully you stand up on the seat of the toilet, pressing your palms against each side of the stall walls. The only things that can be heard are the soft pitter of tears rolling down your cheeks, your sporadic breath, and your heart that blurts out like a trumpet. You're certain that he can hear you. In your mind you picture his ugly grotesque maw searching and sniffing you out. You can hear the whip of his tale crashing into trash cans and water fountains. You can smell his sewer drenched fur just as he can smell your cold sweat that drips down the nape of your neck.

You close your eyes and try to push away those dark fearing thoughts. You try to picture something comforting. First you see Sam. His lopsided smile and dorky impressions that make your sides hurt from giggling so hard. You think of the way he touches you. It is unlike the way you have been touched before. Sam. The kind and gentle boy who would hold your hand and walk you home. Everything about him was comfort. He was everything she could want in a boyfriend, but still her heart would not still.

You think of Artie and how life had already robbed him of so much, but yet he never saw it that way. He was thankful for every extra day god had given him. It was unfair that he should be here now. Every moment spent with him was pure joy. He opened up your world to what life could be like if you appreciated it ever single day. It was a fact you tried to share with others time and time again. You try not to picture what would happen if the monster of your mind broke inside the choir room. Tears roll harder down your face and you have to wipe the snot away from your lip.

You're not sure how long you've been squatting in the bathroom; an hour, a day, a minute, twenty minutes, but you know that your strong dancer legs are starting to quake and tier. You're not sure how much longer you can remain like this, but your fear spurs you on. You center your thoughts around the dripping of the faucet. It's maddening the way each drip antagonizes you. It feels as though it's mocking you by tempting the beast closer and closer and closer with each single drip.

Your thoughts drift again, this time returning to Santana. Once again you close your eyes and are transported back to another time and place. You watch as tiny droplets form and fall from the faucet of Santana's parent's bathtub. You can feel her warm smooth rich skin behind you completely bare, holding you in her arms. Your heart is peaceful and you settle into her. Bubbles sit lighting above the water obscuring your own naked body from view. A lite bit of steam hugs the corners of the room, making the air thick to breath. There are no words spoken between you two, but it is more than enough. It's a kind of peace that simply is without explanation or reason. It's home.

Your meditation is shattered when a loud creak disrupts the loud beating silence of the girl's bathroom. You heart stops beating all together. He's found you. The monster of your worst nightmare has heard the clapping, gasping, beating, dripping, weeping, shivering echoes all of which radiated right from you. You hold your breath waiting for the end to begin. The wait is slow and unbearable as lite footsteps pit against the tile. "_Go away. Go Away. Go Away!"_ you pray. In the far part of your mind you wish Santana would show up and save you from this fate, but you know it's a hope lost. She will never know how much you loved her or how you have names for each of her smiles. It breaks your heart that she wont ever know that you chose Sam over her in order to give her the best life possible with nothing holding her back and that letting her end things was the single stupidest thing you have ever done in your short life.

_"Brittany?"_

Your limbs go weak, you fall against the seat covers behind you, and you take a relieving gasp of air.

_"Mr. Shue."_ You say more like a prayer of thanks than a revelation. You practically stumble out of the stall and fall into the older man's arms, weeping silently. Glee had not abandoned you and in your hear you knew that nor had Santana. From behind the sound of other stall doors unclicking caused you to look up. Your friend and the small freshmen boy looked back at you with puffy red eyes which matched your own.

_"Is everyone alright? "_ Shue asked quietly. The other two students gave small nods. It was plan to see that they also were over come with a calm sense of relief. You take Mr. Shue's hand and follow his instruction to stay close and as low as possible as you creep out of the girl's bathroom. You don't like being out on the open once more. It's unsettling because the monster is still out there somewhere. You aren't a child and you know that although adult always seem to know the right thing to do, they don't actually keep the monsters away.

Your journey down the halls and around the corner go smoothly and much faster than your run seemed to. You secretly keep the fingers on your hand slightly crossed that something doesn't happen at the last-minute. In horror movies, bad things always happen at the last-minute. Shue approaches the choir room door and tries to move the lock handle. You want to tell him that it's no use, but you can't find the words to speak. He knocks twice and you can hear the door unlatch.

From around the corner you catch a glance of a black figure gliding toward you. You take a sharp inhale when you see his gun. Mr. Shue wave him off and you realize it's a police officer. You feel uneasy, but better. You're pushed inside the small room you have come to know so well and before you can think you feel yourself being wrapped up in Sam's arms. You squeeze back because you're happy to know that he's okay. He's comforting to you, but he doesn't still your heart.

Just as Shue locks the door, having safely helped them back inside the class room, there are shouts from outside. At first you feel stressed and annoyed. You're not sure how much more of this you can take, but when you hear the teacher repeat the words 'All clear' you can't help but breathe a little deeper.

Your head begins to hurt from the stress of the day, but you can't help being a little thankful to the hairy monster who walked the halls today. You know what has happened was horrible and wrong, but the fear has taught you something that no one else has. Today you learned to be thankful of each little moment and hold tight to the memories of the people that you love because you never know when they might be gone.

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_***A/N- Hope you enjoyed. Please Review.**_


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